Love Like This
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Sometimes he thought he was stupid and plane hopeful. But maybe he wasn't. Even though the end was near, one kiss and he knew that it was alright. M for talk, but no explicit sex. Incest/BoyOnBoy. First one out of five, all 'bout Reg and Siri.


**Love like this.**

Somewhere near the end you always wondered if maybe you had wanted 'happiness' to much. And you definitely had tried to get it, in all the wrong ways. It wasn't like you were still six, and foolishly made a Christmas-list, asking for the red tractor. This was love you wanted, and Santa was an old man that looked like a snake and wanted you death.

Becoming a Death Eater was the most rational thing you had ever done. And stupid as you were, you had actually believed that it would make him happy. Your love for him was unconditional. Joining the Death Eaters would save you, and so he'd be saved too. Foolish you, believing they were just like the Order of the Phoenix, based on love, _care_, for each other. How naïve, for it had been clear, from the very start, that they were _not_ your friends. Your life was not more valuable then theirs, and _yes_, eventually, you would be killed. You could have gotten out. But no. You stole your master's most precious possession and died. No. You were never brave. You were the good Slitherin. And even though this (_this_. Love. Love like this. Oh, and… _that_.) was weird and out-of-place. Even though it was _your_ fault, your family always saw you as perfect. He was out-of-line, and had malfunctioned. You were just as twisted and obscene, but no one knew.

When you were ten, and your father had died, you crossed the hall, and went into his room. He didn't make a sound, put turned around in his bed. You closed the door, fearing your mother. Perfect Slitherin as you may be, she wouldn't tolerate weakness. You stood still for half an hour, until he turned around again, and you saw his eyes, glittering in the dark. How long had he been awake? You couldn't tell. He didn't say anything, but pushed back the blankets, wordlessly asking you to join.

He is your brother, and you used to think you wanted to _be_ him. Your arm touches his and you practically feel the electricity. The look in his eyes seems to lighten the whole room, and you realise, yet again, that _he_ is perfect. Not you, despite what your parents might think. You're the one that does as you are told, you always pay attention, get excellent grades, the family loves you. He's disobedient, one year in Hogwarts and he's a Gryffindor gone evil. His grades are good, but he's always late with essays, and creates mayor mayhem all around. He was just no good. If mother was a crueller woman, he would have kicked him out. But, after all, she _had_ a name to keep, a reputation to protect. Kicking out a son would only cause rumours. But, she never said a nice word to him after that. Not even in the beginning, when he still tried to get perfect grades, make her proud, look beyond the Gryffindor attire. Now he didn't even care anymore. He was fourteen and free of spirit. And more perfect then you will ever be.

His skin is soft and ivory-coloured. Yours is coarse and slightly tanned. You're so different. And yes, you used to _believe_ you wanted to be like him. His eyes dig into yours, and you shift, snuggling closer. He is your brother, after all. He doesn't need to know that you just want to feel his skin against yours. _Need_ the touch of his body. _Need_ him to look at you. Because really, you wanted to believe yourself when you said you wanted to be like him. But there was no denying it. You didn't want to be him. You wanted to be _one with him_. There was a huge difference between those two. One was normal brother rivalry, the other was disgusted in multiple ways.

He didn't ask you what you were afraid of, and didn't tell you to leave. Quite the contrary really. But you don't think about that often. You don't need to think about that, with obvious prove right next to you. Later, when you had gotten into Hogwarts yourself, he gave you the password to the Gryffindor dorms. He allowed you to crawl into his bed every night, and you were very grateful. His friends didn't question him, of course not. It's called brotherly affection, and you were young. You _needed_ him. No one would doubt that. For, even though he was malicious during the day, the sneers you received were almost sweet. Dammit, there was no use denying it: not even the eternal rivalry between Gryffindor and Slitherin could separate you. You were _addicted_ to each other. Even if people said that you were just brothers. They couldn't see you needed each other like air to breathe. And if you would just stop going there, you knew that he'd be heartbroken. But you didn't want to stop. That was the whole point. The need to be _one_ was mutual.

Sometimes you questioned yourself, when it came to being naïve. Maybe you _weren't_. Maybe you had joined the Death Eaters, not to please him, but to prove that you could live without him. Except that you couldn't. They didn't hate you because you were younger then they were, or because they believed you'd mess up their plans. They knew you were bright, and you could help them out, a whole lot more then they wanted to admit, it was just that part of your loyalty, part of your heart, didn't belong to the Death Eaters. They knew that even though they had strictly forbidden you to, you _still_ kept going there. Night after night after night. And they would never prevent you from seeing him.

Maybe you _weren't_ foolish. You had just needed him to see, that even though he was your whole entire life, you no longer needed to be like him. You could make your own choices. It wasn't like you hadn't _tried_ to make it work. You had tried to combine the Death Eaters and Sirius, making both of them your life. It's just that you miserably _failed_. You had remained at a certain distance, after it had become clear that they didn't care about you, nor him. Again, you weren't brave. The distance was small. And after three days, it grew smaller. And smaller. And then you were back at the beginning.

But, here. This. (Oh, and when his tongue goes like… _that_.) Love. Love like this. (Oh God, and _that_.) Was weird and out of place. And the last time his hands were on you. And they tripled all over you. And when he made you feel like _this_. His kisses are like a reward for getting through in the messed up world that waited outside, no, better; his body was your reward, for living, just _one day_ longer. His fingers, burning patterns that would go unseen to the whole world but you, begging you to come back tomorrow, _please_, or never even leave tonight. And you already knew it would be the last time, and you tried to not let it show, but you knew he knew, he felt it in the kisses. He read it in the words that were never even there. When you truly became one, he heard it in the groans and interpret it in the scratches you made on his back, where your nail dug into his shoulder blades. He saw it in your eyes, and in the way you arched your back, finding release, simultaneously, feeling perfectly complete, while you felt like your life was flowing away at the same time, everything going wrong, the whole fibre of your being flowing through his hands and onto the silky black sheets. It was funny how you would compare your climax to dying. How you would think about death as you finally reached perfection. Only the two of you could be so twisted and obscene. _Only_ you.

But, here. This (_this_. Love. Love like this. Oh, and _those_… those little pecks on your cheek.) It was weird and out-of-place. You were both out–of-line, and you had both malfunctioned. But when he wrapped his arms around you, and you looked into his eyes. They still sparkled, like they had years ago. When you were this close to being none-existent. When you could snuggle closer, slick skin against slick skin. Here. This love. When he kissed you a last time. Oh. You knew, you were not naïve, nor foolish. You were _in love_. And oh, all these thoughts passed through your head, and you realised, you were not naïve, nor foolish. You'd done all of it, because it was worth it. He would be yours, and you'd be his, for eternity to come.

And even though the last kiss made it very clear, that this was the end. God dammit, it was worth it. Love, love like this. _Yours_, for infinity and longer.  
_Fin_

**AN: Please Review. I want to know what you thought about it. Just push the button. Please Review.**


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